Page 59 of Killer Honeymoon
Royce chuckled. “I’ve always gotthoseplans for you, but I was thinking more like hiking or exploring the cliffs or Perry’s Cave. Maybe take a nice bike ride.”
“You do have big plans,” Sawyer said, picking up a mac and cheese bite. “No guilt.”
They’d made a decent dent in the food when Alex arrived at their table. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to an empty chair.
“Of course,” Royce said. “Are you hungry? We’re not going to be able to eat all this.”
Alex sighed and looked longingly at the food. “Starved, but I better not. It will just make me sluggish, and it’s only going to get busier between now and closing time.”
“Nothing like surviving potentially catastrophic weather to make you celebrate life,” Royce said. “We’re from Coastal Georgia, so we know a thing or two about dangerous storms.”
Alex reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the food to meet Royce’s gaze. “I bet. Cecily said you were looking to score a high-stakes poker game.” Alex discreetly raked his eyes over Royce’s attire. He either found it acceptable or was good at hiding his thoughts. The latter skill would come in handy when strangers unloaded their most inner secrets. Was Todd Browning the type of person whose filter became nonexistent when the alcohol started to flow? Had his loose lips figuratively sunk Moore’s ship?
“We are,” Sawyer said. “We were here a few nights ago. A different bartender served us. About your height, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.”
“Yeah, that’s Monty.” Alex scrunched his brow. “Monty told you about high-stakes poker?”
“No,” Royce said. “It was one of the patrons. Big guy named Todd. Built like a brick shithouse if you know what I mean. Didn’t know shoulders could get so broad.”
“Made me immediately sorry for his mama,” Sawyer added.
Alex chuckled. “Todd Browning. The dude is huge.”
“He told us there’d be a poker game this weekend. We’d like to get in on it. He nearly got into a fight with a guy over a woman, and we never got to finish our conversation. Have you seen him?”
“Nope,” Alex said flatly. “And getting into arguments over a woman is practically a nightly thing when Todd’s off duty.”
“Off duty?” Royce asked. “Like a cop?”
“No,” Alex replied. “He’s a ship captain and a bodyguard. Well, he was.”
Royce scrunched up his face. “Was?”
“Yeah. Rumor has it he went home with one of the chicks from the bar the other night instead of staying on the boat. There was some vandalism the following morning, and the boat owner fired him.”
“Oh, so he’s probably long gone,” Sawyer said.
Alex pursed his lips, and Royce could tell he was thinking it over. “I don’t think so. Todd came to the bar soon after he got fired and started drinking. He was drunk as hell by the time I showed up for my afternoon shift, which I think was after the last ferries had left.” Alex sighed. “He skipped out without paying. My boss is pissed, so if you happen to run into Todd before I do, please ask him to stop by and settle his tab.”
“Sure, man,” Royce said.
“Do you know anyone we can ask about Todd’s whereabouts?” Sawyer asked. “Do you happen to know the name of the lady he was spending time with before he got fired?”
“She was a tourist, and I know for a fact she left. I saw her group of friends heading toward the docks with their luggage.”
“Is there anyone else who might know where Todd would be staying if he were still on the island?” Royce asked.
Alex narrowed his eyes, and Royce thought they might’ve pushed too hard. He searched for excuses for why they kept persisting, but his mental gymnastics were a waste of energy.
“The guy who manages the rental properties,” Alex said.
“I wonder if he’s the same person my mom hired for our vacation home,” Sawyer said. “Wears Hawaiian print shirts and khaki shorts?”
“Yeah, that’s him,” Alex said. “Gary Redmon.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry. It’s been a shitty week.”
“No problem,” Sawyer said.
Royce figured that was the most they could get out of Alex without drawing suspicion, but the bartender offered up an unsolicited nugget of information.